All's Well With the World
by theforeverthing
Summary: In which Victor Nikiforov is gone and Yuuri Katsuki goes for the gold. ***honestly fluff***
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi, everyone! I have to say that this story is honestly kind of a lot of fluff. Not much character development, nothing amazing. Fun to write, though!**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Day One**

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri turned to see Minako-sensei, waving him off. He was going to the Grand Prix Finals again – this time hosted in America – and of course all of Hasetsu was overcome with excitement. He waved back, smiling, and then turned toward the security checkpoint.

His smile slipped off his face. A year ago, he'd been a bundle of nerves and stress and also _love_ – love for how far he'd come, love for his family and friends, love for the ever-endearing Yuri Plisetsky, love for Victor Nikiforov.

He was on his own now, it seemed. Well, not really, because he still had his family and friends and he still had the lovely Yurio to text some nights, but a huge chunk of his heart seemed to have been carved out, never to be replaced.

Victor Nikiforov was gone.

"Sir? Anything to drink?"

Yuuri was jerked out of his half-slumber and glanced up to see a flight attendant standing over him, cart in tow. "Just water, please," he replied. He suddenly recalled the many times Victor had said the same, in English, as they headed for their various destinations...

 _Not Victor again._

He downed the water in a few huge gulps, attempting to rid himself of those ever-persisting thoughts. Victor wasn't here anymore, and that was the reality of the matter.

It had been nearly six months. It wasn't _news._

It was a short flight from Hasetsu to Nagoya. He would wait for Yurio's (much) longer flight, and the two of them would head to the hotel together. Yuuri collected his bags and waited until he received a few texts from Yurio saying that they'd landed.

Yurio hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd seen him – six months ago. His blond hair was the same, his body posture was the same, his scowl was the same. If there was one thing that was different about him, Yuuri would say it was how his green eyes had softened.

"There you are, piggy," Yurio said condescendingly, and Yuuri just patted him on the shoulder. Yurio twitched and glared.

"Did you come here by yourself?"

"Yeah. Yakov and Lilia landed yesterday, so I'm here by myself."

Yuuri couldn't help but smile. "You're growing up, little Yurio."

" _Don't_ call me that! And I'm not little – I was never little!" Yurio was glowering at Yuuri, but they both knew it was harmless bantering. Since last year, they'd become close friends and rivals. Since six months ago, they'd become the best of friends and rivals.

They walked in silence, strolling out of the airport amid camera flashes and jabbering reporters. Since Yurio and Yuuri had won gold and silver respectively at last year's Final, they'd become rather famous; their friendship and Victor's predicament had only heightened the masses' interest.

They kept their heads down, smiled sometimes, waved a bit, and waded through the crowd to a taxi Yurio had pointed out. The taxi driver popped the trunk and helped the two of them with their luggage, and then they settled into the back seat.

As the taxi started to move, Yuuri took a deep breath before exhaling. The question was coming, and Yurio probably knew it. "How's... How is he?"

Yurio refused to look at him, staring out the car window as he spoke. "The same as before. They're hoping the Final will jog something or other, but their hopes aren't high."

"Nothing has helped?"

"Not a thing. He vaguely remembers Makkachin and he talks to me about ice skating sometimes. He's always watching it on television, and often he critiques their performances. But he doesn't remember a thing other than what we've told him."

Yuuri was silent. Yurio finally turned to look at him, his green eyes dark and shaded.

"You should've visited recently."

"I... I know." Yuuri's hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his flesh. "I just..."

"Couldn't?" Yurio suggested, and for once, his words had no trace of anger or frustration in them. Instead, he was strangely understanding and compassionate. Yuuri appreciated it. He thought the boy would say something else about the matter, but the blonde only said, "It's a bit of a trip."

It wasn't really that far by airplane, but Yuuri suspected Yurio meant more than just the literal flight time. It was more of a difficult trip _mentally_ than it was physically. More than once, Yuuri had tried, but he'd always chickened out, dragged down by depressing thoughts and fears. So he'd resorted to texting Yurio a _lot_ , and the blonde usually responded. Usually.

They arrived at the hotel in silence. Yurio didn't make any effort to help Yuuri with his things, and he didn't expect him to. They walked into the lobby, checked themselves in, and then they headed for the elevators.

Yuuri was ready to sleep. It was late afternoon, anyway, so why not? He wasn't jet-lagged – Yurio should've been the one who was tired – but he was sleepy anyway. He struggled down the hallway, blundered into his hotel room, dumped his bags down, and was about to flop down on the bed when Yurio grabbed his wrist sternly.

"Get up, piggy," he ordered, and Yuuri frowned at him. "Yakov invited us to go get dinner together. There's some sushi restaurant he wanted to go to."

"Well, I was really looking forward to a nap – "

"Too bad," Yurio scoffed, dragging Yuuri out the door and back into the hallway. "Yakov said he'd treat us, by the way, so don't worry about money."

"Wait – "

"Come _on,_ you pig. Have you been gaining weight again? Why are you so damn heavy?"

"Because I'm digging my heels in," Yuuri deadpanned. The two of them were stuck in one place, Yurio pulling forward and Yuuri leaning backward. They stared at each other until Yurio suddenly let go, and Yuuri found himself falling backward.

Victor wasn't there to catch him anymore.

Yurio stood over him, arms crossed. "You bother me all the time, and this is how you repay me? God, do I _look_ like I appreciate being hammered with thousands of fucking texts every day? Hell, why don't you go see him yourself, rather than bothering _me?_ But since I'm such a nice guy, I've always responded – so get off your lazy ass and just come along already!"

 _That_ sounded more like Yurio. Yuuri sighed, got to his feet, and somewhat willingly followed Yurio back toward the elevators. He wasn't feeling guilty about "spamming" Yurio (he hadn't really sent that many texts, anyway); it was the quaver in Yurio's voice as he spoke about Victor that had convinced Yuuri to come along without a second word. They were both heartbroken. They were in this together.

Yurio shoved the address at the taxi driver, who took one look at Yurio's threatening expression and didn't ask any more. They rode in silence yet again. Yuuri wondered when the day would end.

The restaurant Yakov had chosen was in a mall. Yuuri ate enough sushi as it was, but he figured that anything this expensive would be pretty decent. If only Victor could try it, he thought forlornly. He'd loved _katsudon_ , after all.

"Stop daydreaming," Yurio snapped, and Yuuri blinked. They were in front of a fancy-looking restaurant. Characters were written on the banner above them, reading simply "Nagoya Sushi and More."

"Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked, seeming to address Yuuri. Yuuri translated to Yurio, who said,

"Tell her it's under Yakov's name."

Yuuri translated back, telling the hostess that "Yakov" had made a reservation. She nodded and grabbed two menus for them. He also asked whether Yakov himself had arrived already – a portly old man, he called him. The hostess said _yes_ , and Yuuri was relieved. Sitting alone with Yurio tended to be awkward.

"Here you are," the hostess continued in Japanese, gesturing to the table where Yakov and Lilia were already seated. "And here are your menus. Have a great dinner!"

Yuuri thanked her, and she bowed before leaving. He and Yurio sat down, greeting Yakov and Lilia briefly.

"What would you recommend?" Lilia asked Yuuri in accented English. She was gazing at him like how a lion looks at its prey, and Yuuri squirmed a bit uncomfortably before glancing down the menu. The English translations were horrid.

He spent the next twenty minutes explaining most of the items on the menu before they finally settled on what they wanted. He flagged down a waitress and relayed their orders to her as she scribbled onto her notepad, took their menus, and bowed.

"So, Yuuri Katsuki," said Yakov, and Yuuri hated that all attention was pointed to him again. Why was he here again? "What have you been up to since last year?"

"Working on my technique and my jumps," Yuuri answered truthfully. "I've been training with Celestino again, in Detroit."

"Ah, I see," said Yakov, nodding. "Well, I look forward to your performance in two days."

"Yes, thank you. Best of luck to you, Ms. Lilia, and Yurio."

"Stop _calling_ me that!" Yurio hissed, only to be met with a warning gaze from both his coach and Lilia. He grumbled something under his breath but said no more.

A year ago, Yakov would never have spoken to Yuuri at all unless he had no choice – like the time Victor had run off to make sure Makkachin was alright, and had asked Yakov to be Yuuri's temporary coach.

A year ago, Lilia wouldn't even have acknowledged him. They'd never spoken before.

A year ago, Yurio would've left Yuuri at the hotel without a second thought. It would've been less work for both of them.

Since six months ago, they'd all become closer. Their shared pain over the same person made them feel like allies, like friends, like teammates. He still didn't know Yakov or Lilia very well, but he saw them less as his rival's coaches and more as fellow Victor-lovers.

Even now, hundreds of miles away, probably sitting obliviously at home, Victor Nikiforov was holding his hand out to Yuuri.

His eyes met Yurio's, and he saw his own pain reflected there. Yurio and Victor had been like brothers. Surely, he thought, Yurio was in a constant state of pain, and yet he had the courage to go visit Victor almost every day, regardless of circumstances.

That night, he fell asleep immediately. But Victor refused to appear in his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

_**It DOES get less confusing as it goes, promise :) thanks for reading!**_

* * *

 **Day Two**

He was practicing on the ice, working his quad Salchow until his limbs begged for mercy. Victor would've frowned at his relentless practicing the day before the Final – and so did Celestino. But Yuuri didn't care, and refused to leave the rink until he had it down pat.

Even Yurio was getting frustrated after Yuuri had tried – and successfully executed – five more of them. "You've got it, alright? Stop being such a _pig_ and just get off the damn ice before you fucking hurt yourself!"

When Yuuri _finally_ allowed himself to step off the ice, his legs were shaking with the effort he'd put in. Although Celestino was his coach, it was Yurio who was lecturing him.

"Are you stupid? Are you _stupid? Tomorrow's_ the Final – I won't forgive you if you give a shitty performance, you _pig_! Goddammit, even an actual pig could make better decisions than you! Even when Victor was here..."

 _Victor._

Yuuri's chest clenched.

He unlaced his skates as Yurio continued yelling, slipping on his sneakers and putting his skates away into his bag. He didn't look at Yurio as he grabbed his coat and swung his bag over his shoulder.

" – hey, are you listening to me? Get back here, you damn pig!"

Yuuri swept past Celestino, who let him go without a word, and pushed open the doors to exit the rink. Yurio was hot on his heels, their coaches trailing behind them out of curiosity and mutual understanding.

"What would Victor say?"

Yuuri stopped. Night had fallen, and the streets were lit. The air was brisk and cold, and Yuuri's heart was aching. He turned to face Yurio, who was trembling just a bit, but whose expression was fiercely determined. "What?"

"I said, _what would Victor say?_ What would he say if he saw you like this? Aren't you going for the gold? Why would you overwork your body, you damn idiot?!"

Puffs of steam were coming out of Yurio's mouth. Yuuri shivered. "I don't know." He couldn't say anything else.

"He'd damn well make you regret it, pig!"

Yuuri tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, suddenly feeling cold. "He's not here."

"And so you decide to overwork yourself? To fucking _injure_ yourself before the Final?!"

"I'm not injured."

"You might as well be!"

"I'm not. Good night, Yuri – "

The next second, he'd been backed into the outside wall of the building. Yurio's green eyes were filled with rage. He had one hand on Yuuri's collar and the other one raised, ready to punch him. His expression was one of pure fury. "Don't you _dare_ try to undermine me like that," he hissed, and for the first time in a while, Yuuri actually felt afraid of the blonde. He wasn't joking around. He was deathly serious, and he was ready to kill. He wasn't a fluffy kitten anymore; he was a full-grown tiger, ready to pounce. "Don't undermine _Victor_ like that! How _dare_ you disrespect him like that? After everything he's done for you – after everything! How fucking _dare_ you?!"

There were actual tears rolling down Yurio's cheeks, and Yuuri was surprised to find something warm and wet on his own. They were both crying.

"You selfish, greedy, stupid _pig!_ " Yurio sobbed, shaking Yuuri by the collar. Yuuri let him. "He always says your performances are beautiful, and yet you never come to see him – not one damn time – I told him we were both going to the Final and he told me to wish you good luck – and now you do _this_ to yourself, to him – "

Yurio was only sixteen years old. He was a teenager, hormones raging, high schooler, all that. He was supposed to be finding a girlfriend (or boyfriend, Yuuri definitely wasn't one to judge), having fun at karaoke with his friends (do Russians do that?), eating lots of good food at home with his family.

But instead, he was standing outside in the cold streets of Nagoya, Japan, miles and miles away from home, from the man he considered a brother. He was heartbroken and in pain. And although Yuuri felt his pain – felt it thoroughly – Yurio was an entire eight years younger than him.

The poor kid.

Yurio's grip was losing its strength, and all he could do was say "how _dare_ you" over and over again as hot tears rolled down his cheeks. Yuuri didn't hesitate as he wrapped his arms around him.

The boy didn't even flinch. Yuuri hadn't cried for an entire week, but he couldn't stop the tears anymore. His heart ached and his stomach burned. Victor, his idol – Victor, his coach – Victor, his motivation – Victor, his inspiration – Victor, Victor, Victor...

His sight was blurry with tears, but he could faintly hear the adults calling for a cab nearby. The hotel wasn't too far away, but Yuuri supposed that they figured the extra money was worth it at this point. Yuuri suspected that nobody had ever seen Yurio cry before.

After all, the blonde hadn't even cried when Victor was hospitalized.

Yuuri said _sorry_ over and over again, guiding a sniffling Yurio to the taxi when it arrived. He was still in tears himself, but willed himself to stay strong for the poor teenager. It was the least he could do.

Victor Nikiforov was gone.

He was on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I promise it gets better ;)**_

 **Day Three**

Yuuri woke up on the morning of the Final with newfound determination.

His short program had been choreographed by Celestino, but he'd chosen the music this time. He would skate to a carefully tailored section of Beethoven's famous Tempest Sonata. Celestino had frowned when he'd heard the music – it wasn't exactly conventional skating music – but it had described Yuuri's emotional turmoil extremely well. After seeing Yuuri's determination, passion, and resonation with the music, Celestino had nothing more to say against it.

After the qualifying rounds, Yuuri was in second place behind Yurio, yet again. At least he wasn't fourth like last year, he thought. Victor would be proud of him.

He said hello to Phichit, Chris, and Otabek when he passed by them in the lobby. Yurio stuck to his side like glue (although he wouldn't dare admit it) as they ventured through the halls, heading for the locker room.

Yuuri's legs were still sore, but bearable. He tried to tell himself that he would be fine, but he didn't really believe it. Truthfully, he didn't care much for competing against Yurio; his determination was solely because of one thing Victor had said last year after he'd won silver.

They partook in a short warm-up before retreating to the locker room. As first and second place coming into the Final, the two Yuri's were last on.

He heard the cheers for Phichit off in the distance and knew that the Final had started. This, he thought, was where it started and ended. This was it.

He and Yurio locked eyes, saying nothing but communicating without words. Somehow, the teen's bright green eyes helped to comfort him. As though knowing what Yuuri was thinking, the teen suddenly pulled out his cell phone, fumbled with it for a moment, and then handed it to Yuuri.

"Here," he said, and Yuuri took the phone curiously. "That's Victor's number. Text him, tell him it's you."

Yuuri froze, his thoughts traveling a million meters per minute. "I – "

"Just _do_ it," Yurio hissed, slamming a fist down on the bench for emphasis. "He's definitely watching the Final on live television, anyway. And he knows who you are."

The blonde paused.

"Sort of."

Victor had gotten a new phone and therefore a new number after the accident, but Yuuri had never asked Yurio for it. The teen had offered many times before (in order to avoid having to be the designated messenger between the two, when they had something to say – and they rarely did), but Yuuri had always turned him down. He had been – and still was – afraid to step into this unfamiliar, dangerous territory.

On the phone screen was a series of messages from the Russians' earlier conversation. It was mostly in Russian, which Yuuri definitely could not read, but he did pick out the messages in English.

 **[ 7:06 ] Yuri Plisetsky: Remember we're last**

 **[ 7:07 ] Yuri Plisetsky: You better watch us.**

 **[ 7:26 ] Victor Nikiforov: Of course I will! Good luck,** ** _[something in Russian Yuuri couldn't read]_** **!**

Yuuri's fingers trembled as his thumbs hovered over the screen. Across from him, Yurio seemed ready to rip him a new one for his hesitation.

Victor didn't know about their past – he was sure of that, because Yurio had asked if he wanted Victor to know and he'd said no. So to Victor, Yuuri Katsuki was nothing other than the man who'd won silver last year. To Victor, Yuuri was just Yurio's friend from Japan.

What was he supposed to say?

His chest ached – it hurt so, _so_ bad.

"Just send him who you are," Yurio grumbled, seeming to sense Yuuri's inner turmoil. "He knows your _name_."

Yuuri shook his head and pushed the phone back into Yurio's hands. "I can't do it."

"What?" Yurio scowled. "You realize you've been ignoring him all this time – "

 _"I can't do it!"_

Yuuri's outburst echoed through the locker room, and even Yurio – notorious for being the most obnoxious person _ever_ – was silent. Yuuri's head was pounding, and his eyes were wide open but staring at nothing.

 _"Man, I really wanted to kiss Yuuri's gold medal, too..."_

That was the only reason he was here. That was the reason he'd worked so hard. He was working hard to preserve Victor's memory – to try to honor his wishes. He had pushed himself to the breaking point because _he was breaking inside._

" _Hello?"_

Yuuri jumped, because he recognized that voice. He turned to stare wide-eyed at Yurio, who was looking away with a petty scowl on his face. He was holding his cell phone, and on the screen read Victor's name in Russian.

Yuuri knew _that,_ if nothing else.

 _"Hello? Yura?"_

"Yeah, it's me," Yurio grunted, before rolling his eyes and forcing himself to say, "Are you watching us?"

" _Of course I am, my dear Yura! Oh – is Yuuri there too? I've heard so much about him!"_

That was all he was to Victor now – the man that he'd heard so much about. Yuuri wasn't anything special anymore. He was just Yuuri – a name without a face, one of Yurio's friends who might never even _meet_ Victor.

That was his own fault, but even so...

"Yeah, he's here," Yurio said, after it was clear that Yuuri would say nothing. "Hey, idiot, say something."

 _"Hi, Yuuri! I'm Victor Nikiforov, Yura's friend! How are you? I'm really excited to see you skate! Ah, Chris's form is perfection..."_

The seconds were counting down. Yuuri was going on in less than ten minutes. He would have to leave soon, to go find Celestino by the rink. He trembled. Was he supposed to respond?

 _"Wow! Amazing! Hey, Yura – you'd better do well, you hear me? This people are_ amazing _!"_

"Yeah, yeah," Yurio grumbled, and the unspoken words hung over them: _So were you._ The blonde reached over and delivered a swift whack to Yuuri's ribs, but _still_ Yuuri couldn't think of what he was supposed to say.

 _"Makkachin, are you watching this? Isn't it amazing?"_

"I'm going to win!" Yuuri suddenly blurted out, and Victor's chuckle died halfway through. "I-I... I'm going to win for you, even if you don't remember me anymore!"

And then he left.

Tears welled up in Yuuri's eyes, as he pushed through the locker room door. It was almost his turn, anyway. Celestino was waiting for him.

No, not just Celestino. Victor's voice echoed in Yuuri's head. _"The world is waiting for you, Yuuri. How long are you going to stay in warm-up mode?"_

Who was Yuuri skating for?

He was skating for Victor.

 _"But what use is it if you don't believe in yourself, Yuuri?"_

He had _never_ believed in himself. How was he supposed to change that now? All he could do was hope that his – his – his _love_ for Victor was good enough. Right?

Right?

 _"You always have to believe that_ you _are the only person who can skate this program."_

Celestino said nothing when he saw Yuuri's conflicted state and only patted him on the shoulder firmly before sending him out onto the ice. Yuuri could barely even see the world around him through his tears, and wondered if that was a bad thing.

He took his place in the center of the ice. The music started. He flailed.

He had suddenly realized that he'd blindly walked into this competition. What was he doing? He had to focus – what was the next jump – what was he supposed to do?

 _Shit._ Yuuri searched frantically but found nothing, and he leaned too far to the right and almost hit a wall that he still could barely see. _Damn, damn, damn –_

 _"You tend to flub your jumps when something's on your mind,"_ Victor whispered in his ear. He tried to relax. That was right. He couldn't think too hard. He just had to keep going – like he'd been doing these past six months.

Why did that have to happen to Victor – to them? To Yurio? What divine presence had decided _that_ shitty fate? Victor had been the world's greatest ice skater. Victor had been everyone's idol.

And now what?

In personality he was the same, but he remembered _nothing._

He was twenty-eight years old, but he might as well have been three.

And Yuuri was so heartbroken and so downright _angry._ What had he done to deserve this? What had Victor done to deserve this? Yurio? Hell, what had the _world_ done to deserve this? It wasn't fair – it wasn't fair – it just wasn't fair –

And he'd been planning his comeback, too. He'd been working hard for it. Now that would never happen.

 _"Man, I really wanted to kiss Yuuri's gold medal, too..."_

He was going to win the gold this year, for sure. He would win it for Victor – even if Victor didn't know who he was. He would win it for Victor – for the only person he'd ever really loved.

But more importantly, he had to win it for himself – the only person he'd never cared about.

He thought he could see Victor smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you for all the support! :))))**_

 **Day Four**

There was a day of rest between the short program and the free skate.

Victor Nikiforov walked through his house, bored. Since the accident, he'd moved back in with his parents, and although they were all too ready to take him back, he suspected that they secretly wished he hadn't come back – only because they wished the accident hadn't happened at all.

Victor had woken up in a hospital bed, surrounded by his immediate family and Yura. They'd told him, over a course of a week or so, that he had been in a car accident and suffered brain damage. After a few tests, they'd determined that the only thing wrong was his memory. Amnesia. He couldn't remember anything from before he woke up.

With that said, he somehow had an extensive knowledge of what was "right" and "wrong" in figure skating, and when he asked about it, Yura had told him (proudly, it seemed) that Victor had been five-time world champion before the accident. 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and 2015, Yura had told him.

Victor didn't ask what had happened in 2016.

This year was the 2017 Grand Prix, and Victor had been following it carefully on television. After all, his dear Yura was in it.

Speaking of Yura, the teen skated beautifully. Victor had gone to the rink and watched him a great many times, but had never really tried to skate, himself. He reasoned that skating was a thing of the past – the past that he couldn't remember.

Yura and Yuuri Katsuki had placed within a point of each other in the short program, but Yura was ahead. Although Victor wanted to cheer for Yura, naturally, something in him kept telling him that Yuuri looked oh-so-familiar – that he should be cheering for Yuuri, as well.

Maybe it was just because Yura talked about him a lot.

Victor let out a small chuckle. No, he knew that wasn't true. Everyone around him seemed to always assume that he wouldn't use the internet as a resource, but he did. He'd looked himself up a good three months ago, only to find a billion articles on him and Yuuri.

Were they just all a bunch of idiots? He wasn't mentally impaired – he just couldn't _remember_ anything from before he woke up.

He had coached Yuuri for a year, bringing him to victory as the silver medalist in last year's Grand Prix Final. The Japanese man had missed gold by 0.12 points.

He watched all the videos there were of the two of them over and over again. He looked for any and all pictures and saved them all to his secret stash on his laptop. He valued any information he could get on the mysterious Yuuri Katsuki – which, to his great pleasure, was spread widely across the internet.

He _knew_ who Yuuri Katsuki was, in theory. He even knew that the two of them had probably been in love (there was a ton of evidence regarding that, and Phichit's occasional #tbt's only confirmed it). He just didn't remember him.

He was even more interested in Yuuri now, because of the short program. Victor had been watching the Final on television, as promised, but to his great amazement, something _changed_ in him during Yuuri's performance.

Yuuri had been captivating. He'd been passionate and dynamic and beautiful and everything in between. He'd skated like he loved it.

He'd skated it like a broken man.

Watching him, Victor felt something strange inside of him, and all of a sudden, he had a vague recollection of an indoor ice rink. He'd never seen it before, but...

The doctors had long since given up on trying to restore Victor's memory. "Sometimes things act as triggers," they'd said, "but we can't seem to find yours."

Maybe, thought Victor, that was because nobody had introduced him to Yuuri Katsuki.

That raised another question: Why hadn't Yuuri come to visit him, all these months? Had he been afraid? Angry? Annoyed?

His phone buzzed with a message from Yura, and he picked it up eagerly to see the reply he'd been waiting for.

 **[ 1:06 ] Yura Plisetsky: He doesn't know you very well, so he felt awkward going to see you.**

 **[ 1:06 ] Yura Plisetsky: But you were his idol or something.**

 **[ 1:07 ] Victor Nikiforov: Really? I'm glad! Tell him to come visit soon!**

 **[ 1:07 ] Victor Nikiforov: After the Final?**

 **[ 1:15 ] Yura Plisetsky: He says he can't. He's a fucking moron.**

 **[ 1:16 ] Victor Nikiforov: Whaaaaat? Why not? Why, is he afraid? I want to meet him! His performance was amazing!**

 **[ 1:17 ] Yura Plisetsky: The idiot won't fucking agree.**

Yura wasn't exactly known for his clean mouth, but two curse words so close to each other, about the same person, was strange, even for him. Victor frowned at his screen. Yura was actually irritated with Yuuri for refusing to come see Victor.

"If I were Yuuri, how would I think?" Victor wondered aloud, staring at the ceiling. The white ceiling gave him no answers. He sighed. "Did he really love me?"

And although he theoretically couldn't make any assumptions, somewhere in him the resounding answer was _"Yes."_

But then, he thought, as he continued to stare at nothing, was he really Victor Nikiforov anymore? He _said_ he was, and he looked the same and sounded the same, but who was he without his memories? Without his experiences that had shaped him?

He stood up abruptly and reached for his laptop. Yuuri didn't want to see the man who merely _reminded_ him of his Victor.

And he never would.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Five**

It was the day of the free skate. Yuuri, who was _still_ in second place behind Yurio, would go on second to last.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. If he didn't make gold this year... well, he'd be disappointed, to say the least. He had worked _so hard_ for Victor, but...

He steeled his nerves. Just like last time, he would skate for Victor. And finally, _finally,_ he would skate for himself. He would skate for all the hard work he'd put in. He would skate for all the tears he'd shed. He would skate for his own pride and his own confidence.

He would skate until Victor's eyes were _only on him._

Celestino patted him on the shoulder. Yurio gave him a nod. Phichit loudly cheered Yuuri's name – and so did the entire stadium. The audience was waiting for him, just like Victor had said.

"And now we have Yuuri Katsuki of Japan, carrying on Victor Nikiforov's legacy with 'Stay Close to Me'!"

And the cheering continued. Yuuri positioned himself in the center of the ice. Even hearing Victor's name had made him tremble.

One last time, he thought. The audience would see the Victor that lived on inside of him. And they would see _him_ – Yuuri Katsuki, with all his faults and chubbiness and all the things he was bad at – and they would see his suffering and his tears, and they would see how broken he felt inside.

The familiar music started, and he stepped off into a simple step sequence.

 _One last time._

His eyes filled with tears, and his vision was blurry. He didn't care. Finally, _finally_ , this was for himself. And after this, he had decided, he would retire. Victor was gone, and Yurio was the up-and-coming star of the skating world. There were plenty of people to take his spot.

He had never been the most amazing skater, and now his idol – his motivation – his inspiration – was gone.

The music was filling his heart – filling the empty space Victor's absence had left. And it was like Victor himself was speaking to him, because Victor was _here_ with him –

 _"Careful on your quad Salchow. You'd rather over-rotate than under-rotate, right?"_

Yuuri nearly over-rotated, but he didn't. He landed it perfectly.

 _"And here's the combination – remember, focus on the right foot landing, and you'll be fine!"_

Triple axel, single loop, triple toe loop – perfect.

Victor was cheering. _"Yes, Yuuri! Go! You're doing great! Now remember how we skated this at the exhibition last year – just pretend I'm with you. You're beautiful. You're captivating."_

Yuuri had never been more relaxed on the ice. Victor was here with him, and he was _fine._ For once, he wasn't hurting.

 _"Good form there, Yuuri! Now there's the quad flip coming up, but you can do it. I'm here with you."_

Yuuri went into the quad a bit weak. Things were going by in slow motion. He wasn't going to make enough rotations – he would miss by _half a damn rotation –_

And then it was like something was pushing him through the air, and he landed perfectly. A perfect landing. Four full rotations. Victor winked at him. _"See? Perfect!"_

 _"You're cheating, you know,"_ Yuuri accused him, but he just chuckled.

 _"Anything for my sweet Yuuri!"_

The music was crying out to Victor, begging him to stay – _Yuuri_ was crying out, begging him to stay –

 _"Stay close to me  
Don't go  
I'm afraid of losing you._

 _"Your hands, your legs  
My hands, my legs  
The heartbeats  
Are fusing together..."_

God, he was crying. He was crying during the Grand Prix Final. He was crying on live television. He was crying.

 _"Let's leave together,"_ came the lyrics in Italian. Yuuri was spinning, fast, the world a dizzying blur around him.

Victor smiled at him and mouthed the words as they came.

 _"Now I'm ready."_

And then came the applause.

It took him a while to calm down, but he watched Yurio's performance and was extremely impressed. He didn't care about winning at this point; he had fulfilled his goals.

Even so, he was on edge as the scores for Yurio came out.

Amidst the _good job_ 's and the _congratulations_ ' and the _you were amazing_ 's were Yurio's pat on the head, Phichit's enthusiastic hug, and Chris's tearful proclamation of love to Yuuri's performance.

None of it mattered. Victor had been happy. And more importantly, he reminded himself, _he_ had been happy.

Well, so had Celestino, because Yuuri had beaten his own world record from last year for a grand score of 334.05. Now it just came down to what Yurio scored.

"We have the scores for Yuri Plisetsky!" said the announcer in perfect English. It was quickly translated to a dozen different languages, and Yuuri's heart was pounding. Why was he so nervous? He couldn't beat Yurio, could he?

And he didn't even care about winning, so what did it matter?

"His score for the free skate is 228.15, giving him a grand total of 333.17!"

Yuuri's heart clenched. And unclenched.

What the actual hell?

People were screaming – not just for Yurio, but for _him._ He had won. He had won gold.

He stood up and yelled with them, his voice lost among theirs. "You see that, Victor?!" he screamed, the waterworks starting again. He just couldn't help it. "I did it – _I did it_!"

He had done it. He had won a gold medal.

If only Victor was here to kiss it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Happiness from now on! :)))**_

 **Day Six**

He ventured through the city carefully, checking and double-checking the address several times before deciding that he was in the right place. The whispers started up immediately – after all, he _was_ a gold medalist.

Cameras flashed and reporters started to gather, but he politely pushed through them all, heading for the entrance to the building.

As per tradition, at the end of every Grand Prix Final was a grand banquet.

Inside, people were dancing and talking and laughing and drinking. He immediately grabbed a flute of champagne offered to him by a passing waiter, and continued on his way in. He secretly relished in people's stares and sudden moves as they all blanched at his appearance.

He knew what they were thinking, because he could hear the whispers: _What's_ he _doing here? I thought..._

On the far side, talking, was a group of men. They were all watching as Yurio demonstrated some fancy dance position – it looked like an exaggerated needle to him – and none of them noticed as he drew nearer.

When he was twenty meters from them, people had already formed a sort of aisle around him. He felt like he was parting the Red Sea.

When he was fifteen meters from them, Yurio wobbled and nearly fell. The anticipation from the crowd rose.

When he was ten meters from them, Yurio had regained his stability. Clapping ensued.

When he was five meters from them, Yurio suddenly locked eyes with him. There was a startled yelp, and he toppled over.

Victor smiled.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!" Yurio shrieked, eyes wide and expression panicked. The rest of the group – Otabek, Phichit, Chris, Guang-Hong, and Yuuri – spun around to see who Yurio was yelling at.

They gaped, open-mouthed, lost for words. The only person who seemed to be able to form any was the very, _very_ loud Yuri Plisetsky.

"Why, you – you ignored my calls and texts for almost an entire day! What the fuck were you doing – catching a flight? Oh, wait, that's _exactly_ what you were doing, you asshole!"

"Language," Victor chided, but he was smiling as he reached over and ruffled Yurio's blond hair. The teen scowled at him.

"Don't touch my hair!"

"You shouldn't be so mean to the man who choreographed your award-winning routine last year, should you?"

"Well, that was last year! And – " Yurio froze. " – Wait, how do you know about that?"

Victor beamed at the stunned crowd that had gathered around him. "Seeing Yuuri skate stirred something in me, so I just _had_ to come to watch the free skate in person!"

"So what? Did you...?" Yurio's question was left unfinished, dangling in the air, but everybody knew what he was talking about. Victor's smile grew wider, if that was even possible.

Yuuri was standing there, dumbstruck, his mouth halfway open like a goldfish. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. Victor couldn't help himself as he felt the tears forming in his own eyes. "Close your mouth, silly," he chided Yuuri brokenly, letting out a sort of sob as he tried to chuckle. "You'll catch flies."

Yuuri's mouth was moving soundlessly, as though trying to form words but desperately unable to. They slowly approached each other, and nobody else existed but them, in that moment. Victor held out his arms. Yuuri ran into them.

And then everyone was crying and laughing and cheering all at the same time. Yuuri, for one, was sobbing into Victor's shoulder. Even Yurio's eyes looked suspiciously glossy, but he turned away as soon as he saw Victor looking.

"Victor," he heard Yuuri whisper over and over, "Victor."

"Oh, my sweet Yuuri," he said in a low voice, rubbing circles into Yuuri's back with one hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault!" Yuuri exclaimed immediately, pulling back and nearly breaking Victor's hold on him. "It was the drunk driver – "

"I know," Victor said, smiling, "but just let me apologize for putting you in pain, okay? I'm sorry."

He spent most of the night laughing as Yuuri tried in vain to stop his tears. He danced and spun and talked and laughed – and drank, too. After all, a grand celebration was in order, wasn't it?

At some point, drunk, Victor grabbed Yuuri's gold medal and kissed it over and over again. Phichit took pictures.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate your support :)**_

 **Day Seven**

"What are you going to do now, Victor?" asked Yuuri. They lay together in the hotel bed, Yuuri's face buried in Victor's chest as the silver-haired man played with Yuuri's soft locks. If Yurio could see them now, Yuuri was sure he'd blanch in horror and then spit in distaste. He smiled at the thought.

"Eh? Oh, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

"You never did face me in competition, like you promised. It's the 'ultimate diss as a competitor', isn't it?"

"What, you and Yurio breaking my records multiple times?" Victor let out a disgruntled sound. "Yes, it really is."

Yuuri chuckled. "You're calling him 'Yurio' again?"

"I can't seem to stop. It's just so much more interesting than 'Yura'."

"He hates it."

"I know!" Victor was eternally cheery. Yuuri felt like he was on cloud nine. "Hey, Yuuri, what do you want to do today? We've got all day here in Nagoya before we return to Hasetsu!"

Yuuri twisted out of Victor's grip. "You're going to Hasetsu?"

"Of course! Why not?"

"I mean... I thought you'd go back to Russia or something – you know, to train, or to sort out things with your parents... or something."

"Or something," Victor agreed, putting Yuuri right back into his arms where he wanted him. Yuuri wriggled a bit to get comfortable. "Well, I'll give them a call, of course. But I want to go to Hasetsu! I want to eat _katsudon_ and skate at Ice Castle! I want to go on walks by the beach!"

"We can do all that," Yuuri said, excited at the prospect. "My mom's overjoyed, by the way. You're all over the news, of course, so _everyone_ knows."

"Good!" Victor chirped. "Do they all know how amazing your free skate was, too?"

Yuuri flushed. "Um... I don't know how good it was, really."

"It was amazing. It was perfect. And it was really, really hard." Victor frowned at him. "How did you learn to do all those jumps, anyway?"

"I practiced a lot," was Yuuri's vague answer. (Technically, Yuuri thought, he wasn't _lying_ – he just wasn't telling the whole truth. Most of his practices had been similar to the one Yurio had screamed at him for a few nights ago.) Victor continued to frown at him. Yuuri sighed. "I _have_ been practicing a lot with Celestino and Phichit, and Yurio helped me out whenever we saw each other, too."

"You two really bonded, huh?"

"We bonded over _you_ ," Yuuri blurted out before he could stop himself. He gasped when he realized his mistake. Victor tensed. "I-I mean... We were both really, uh, _sad_ , so – "

"I hurt both of you," Victor whispered, hugging Yuuri tight. "I... Your short program looked so _broken_ , I couldn't... I didn't even remember you, and yet..."

"I can't breathe!" Yuuri gasped, and Victor immediately loosened his grip, spitting out apologies. "Anyway, yes, it was because we were both in pain. But you're not supposed to _apologize_ for something you didn't do!"

Victor wasn't done apologizing for good, but he _was_ done for the time being. They eventually got out of bed to go sightseeing. Victor, newly rejuvenated (both literally and figuratively), was interested in _everything_ and finally let Yuuri drag him away from the Buddhist temple to go eat lunch. They returned to the hotel eventually to pack and head for the airport with Yurio.

The teen couldn't stop scowling, for whatever reason. "You two look so _happy_ ," he said at some point, to which the other two couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, don't laugh! Stop!"

"Aren't you happy that I'm back?" Victor teased, putting an arm around Yurio's shoulders. The blonde looked away, sulking. "Oh, come on, Yurio! Let's go to Hasetsu and eat some _katsudon_!"

"Who said I was going to Hasetsu with you?"

"Your plane ticket!" said Victor cheerfully, and Yurio's eyes went wide.

"How did you know about that?!"

"I stole your computer for research – _ow_! That hurts!"

"Serves you right, old man!"

"I'm only twenty-eight! I'm not that old! I don't know if I can recover from that, my dear Yurio!"

Despite Yurio's sharp words and tone, Victor could clearly see how his green eyes had softened. Perhaps, he thought, with another trace of guilt, it had to do with his amnesia.

When he had lost his memories, the world had lost _him_ – Victor Nikiforov. Surely, thought Victor later as Yuuri's head landed on his shoulder, it was akin to being dead. The two Yuri's had had to suffer through Victor's death.

He didn't even want to imagine either of their deaths. It hurt him just to think about it. He shivered.

"The plane's landing, Yuuri," Victor said quietly, nudging Yuuri gently. The younger man didn't stir. "Yuuuuuri..."

"Just leave him" was Yurio's distasteful answer, but Victor shook his head and shook Yuuri until he awoke. They clambered off the plane together, Yuuri still looking a bit dazed from his nap.

They were warmly welcomed by Yuuri's family, as always, and everyone went around hugging Victor tightly and gushing over him. "Yuuri was so heartbroken!" exclaimed his mom at some point, which caused Yuuri to flush a brilliant red and protest against his mom _saying_ that to Victor's face – it would only make him feel bad – while everyone else nodded in agreement. Victor glanced at Yuuri's protesting figure and said,

"Are you saying you _didn't_ miss me? How cruel."

No no no, that had _not_ been what Yuuri meant! Victor laughed. _Cute_.

Victor had been following Yuuri Katsuki's journey for much longer than anybody suspected. Ever since he'd Googled himself three months ago, he'd been frantically looking up _every single detail_ on the man, and probably had enough about him memorized to write a short biography.

But even before that, Yurio would mention Yuuri from time to time. Victor noticed that they kept in touch quite regularly, but he didn't realize _why_ until that fateful Google search.

Thank God for Google.

Actually, he thought that night, as he stretched out on Yuuri's bed (Yuuri had insisted on taking the futon, and refused to share the bed with him), thank God for Yuri Plisetsky. The teen was a little annoying shit, but he was helpful in his own way. He'd visited Victor regularly when he was in the hospital, and even afterward, he'd barge into Victor's parents' house at odd times without knocking.

And he'd mentioned Yuuri a lot, actually, now that Victor thought about it. At some point, Victor had even considered Yuuri as a possible boyfriend for Yurio.

Apparently not. They were just good friends.

And thank fucking goodness they were.

"Yuuri," Victor whined, but there was no answer. He was pretty sure Yuuri was just faking sleep, because it had only been five minutes and Yuuri almost _never_ fell asleep that quickly. "Yuuri, stop ignoring me."

There was the sound of blankets shifting. "What?"

"Come up here."

"I won't fit."

"It'll be fun!"

"No, Victor."

"Yuuri..." Victor sounded like a kicked puppy. Yuuri sounded too tired to care. "Fine then, I'll just lie here, alone and sad."

There was a snort, but Victor waited and eventually Yuuri was hesitantly climbing into bed with him, pushing Victor up against the wall because of the limited space on the tiny bed. Victor didn't care and beamed as he rolled over to face Yuuri.

"Hi!"

Yuuri looked irritated. "You need to stop doing that," he said, and Victor suddenly noticed how much he'd changed from last year. He would've been stuttering before. Not anymore, it seemed.

"Doing what?"

" _Guilt-tripping me_ , dammit!"

Victor laughed. Yuuri was _adorable_ , and he told him as much. Amid his protests, Victor reached out and wrapped his arms around the younger man, effectively suffocating him. There was a bit of silence before Victor said, "Your performance really was amazing. You've improved so much since last year."

"That was because of _you_."

Victor's breath caught. "Me?"

Yuuri gave no answer, and within minutes, he was asleep. Victor felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. His smile slipped off his face. Yuuri kept telling him not to apologize, but...

He'd make it up to them, somehow. He'd do it again and again, and he would keep trying until everything was finally forgotten and buried.

For now, he let himself be content with Yuuri's sleeping figure in his arms as the moonlight seeped in through the window. _Beautiful_ , he thought, smiling.

And all was well with the world.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Last chapter! Seriously, thank you all for following along this far - this story has been so fun to write and I'm glad you guys are enjoying it!**_

 **Day One**

"Watch your free leg – no, no, even more than that with the spin – your arms, your arms!"

Victor was, as always, a slave driver.

Yuuri took the opportunity to glare at him, telling him exactly what he thought of his methods, but Victor ignored it and only yelled more instructions. "Do it again!"

He'd forgotten about this part of it.

Yuuri gritted his teeth and went for the quad flip again. He'd landed it fine in competition, but there was always something to improve.

"It's because you're going into it too early, you stupid pig," Yurio drawled from the stands, and Yuuri glanced up at him. So did Victor. "If you enter the jump just a bit later, you'll get more rotations."

Better to over-rotate than under, right? Yuuri smiled at Yurio. "Thanks."

Yurio narrowed his eyes. "I'm not helping you win again, alright? _I'll_ be the goddamn winner next year!"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Yuuri, trying to placate the blonde. As Yurio huffed, Yuuri focused on the jump again, trying to wait just a tiny bit longer before springing into the jump. He landed it perfectly.

Victor whooped. "Great! That was perfect!"

Amid his torturous training schedule and sharp criticisms, Victor was always the first to give a huge abundance of praise, as well. Yuuri beamed at the compliment. Yurio just soundlessly climbed down the bleachers and crossed his arms.

"Let me skate now," he demanded, and Yuuri shrugged and complied.

All was well with the world.

Sort of.

Moments later, as he sat in the bleachers, he sighed and let his head drop to his knees. Yurio was a little shit, Victor was letting him know it, and they were arguing back and forth in rapid-fire Russian. Yuuri didn't understand a word, but the way they talked let him know just about exactly what was going on.

Yurio never did take criticism very well.

"So you've decided to continue?" the same blonde asked him during their lunch break, before tearing apart a pork bun with his teeth. Yuuri watched him munch on it in amusement, answering,

"Yeah. I have to face Victor at least once as a serious competitor, don't I?"

Yurio _hmph_ -ed. "So you admit you weren't serious before?"

Yuuri paused as he reached out for another pork bun. Victor's eyes slid over to watch him carefully. "Well," he said, smiling sheepishly, "it's not that I _wasn't_ serious – but just that I was never able to skate for the most important person in my life."

Yurio screwed up his face. "That's _disgusting._ You two are _disgusting._ "

"W-Wait, that's not what I meant!"

Victor frowned at Yuuri. "I'm not the most important person in your life? I'm insulted!"

"N-No, that's not what I meant either – can you two stop it? Victor, stop crying! You're not actually insulted – _agh_!"

Victor was lying on the ground dramatically and Yurio was still making faces at him, so he finally just blurted out,

"I never skated for _myself_ before!"

They both stopped their antics to stare at him. There was a moment of silence before Yuuri blushed.

"I-I mean... I always loved the sport and all, but – "

"That's great!" Victor shedding tears of joy now (although they were _clearly_ exaggerated because Victor never actually cried out of joy), and leaned over to hook an arm around Yuuri's shoulders. He embraced him tightly as Yuuri struggled to breathe. "Wow, I'm so proud! You did it!"

Yurio grunted. "Disgusting, like I said."

"Don't be like that, Yurio! Come on, join the hug party!"

"I'm going back inside!"

"Yuriooooo!"

"Stop calling me that!"

Makkachin darted forward and snatched the uneaten pork bun out of Yurio's hand. The blonde actually shrieked. "You damn poodle! I'm going to grind your bones into dust!"

As Yurio chased Makkachin through the building, Victor smiled and reached over to grab Yuuri's right hand. On his fourth finger, there was a shiny gold ring. Victor winked at Yuuri, making him blush. "We still have to get married now that you've won the gold, remember?"

Yuuri blanched. "V-Victor!"

"What, you don't want to marry me anymore? I feel sad."

"T-That's not what I meant – "

"Oh, what'll I do now?"

"Stop messing with me, you little – hey, Victor, come back here!"

As they ran through the building, yelling and screaming and laughing, Makkachin gobbling up another bun and fleeing for his life, Yuuri unable to keep the smile off his face even as he pretended to be mad, an extreme feeling of happiness bubbled up inside of Yuuri.

Because all was well with the world again – really, and truly.


End file.
